Mish Mash

By Audrey W.

“Gage, what are you doing?”

“I’m puttin’ my Thanksgiving dinner in a coupla stacks on my plate, Chet. What does it look like I’m doing?”

“Yeah, I can see that. But why?”

“Why? Look at your plate. Crowded, right? Not single spot of dish showing. In fact, part of your dressing is nearly falling off the edge and your gravy is dripping from it.”

“And. . .?”

“Well, Chet, look at mine. It’s all contained well in from the edge of the plate, and that’s with everything I wanted on it.”

“But you gotta eat it all together then.”

“So what? It all ends up that way in the stomach anyway”

“I’m almost afraid to ask, but what brought this idea on?”

“Thanksgiving dinner last year at Roy’s house.”

“Roy?”

“Don’t look at me. It’s not my idea. My son Chris's. He calls it ‘Mish Mash’. It's smaller portions, of course, and he never eats it all. But it makes it easier for Joanne to scrape off what he doesn’t later.”

“John, you got this from a little kid?”

“Hey, if it works it works. Doesn’t matter who thought of it, Chet. But rest assured, you won't be scraping any leftovers off my plate.”

“I don’t care if it’s ‘mish mash’ or ‘squish squash’, I’m hungry and as your captain, I say we eat.”

“I second that.”

“Great, Mike seconds it. So it’s settled. Let’s dig in.”

“First we have to say grace, Cap.”

“Marco’s right. Any volunteers?”

“I’ll do it.”

“Okay, go for it, Chet.”

“Dear Lord, we thank you for the food on our plates, even if one of us doesn’t know how to put it on right.”

“Ha, ha! Very funny.”

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